Betrothal Gifts
by avanti90
Summary: Six betrothals in the extended Vorbarra family, and six gifts that were more than what they seemed.


_I._

Piotr did not know whether it was out of respect for his mourning state or to avoid drawing attention to the safe house that concealed them, but for whatever reason, they had not bothered with tradition. Once the Emperor had spoken his wishes and Piotr had accepted them, there was little more to be said, and only one thing to be done.

So Piotr had knelt on the cold stone and taken his oath, and not faltered for an instant when Dorca had released his hands and said, _Rise, Count Vorkosigan. _

With that all was declared to be over, and he was free to leave. Piotr tossed the useless red and silver robe into a corner and went into the courtyard to think on the Emperor's unexpected declaration.

He heard the step of boots on stone behind him; a soldier's tread, but making no effort at silence. He turned to stare into steel-gray eyes that were the very image of Dorca's.

"Most men in your position," said Prince Yuri, coming up beside Piotr, "would not be glowering out into the night. They would show how honored they were."

"You know I am not one for show," Piotr retorted. "Or for that matter, politics."

"You cannot evade politics any longer,_ Count Vorkosigan_," said Yuri. "Not after what you have agreed today."

"I came today in hope of men and weapons," Piotr threw back. "Either would have done me more good than this."

He remembered just how silently the Prince could move when he found himself shoved back to the wall with a hand digging into his shoulder and Yuri's knife at his throat. His hands rose instinctively, and five ways to disarm and kill the Emperor's son flashed through his mind. He slowly lowered his hands and held himself still. Yuri, perhaps, smiled.

A familiar voice spoke from the shadows, in an even more familiar tone of restrained anger. "I asked you to find him, brother. There is no need to threaten his life."

"You should know, Vorkosigan," Yuri said softly, completely ignoring the source of the voice, "that my brother has imbibed some overly sentimental Betan customs. He considers it poor taste to offer threats of violence to our father's allies, however appalling he may find their habits."

Piotr's lip curled. If Xav found Piotr's brand of warfare appalling, he could only imagine what Xav thought of his brother. Yuri had _taught_ Piotr.

"I," growled Yuri, "have no such hesitation, as you well know. Your discourtesy may be forgiven _once, _out of respect for your dead. But should my niece ever have reason to say that you care less for her than for men and weapons and your precious vengeance - it will not be the Cetagandans who make an end of you. Is that understood?"

"Perfectly," Piotr breathed, and Yuri abruptly let him go.

Xav was still glaring at Yuri, who looked quite used to it. Piotr waited.

"Vorkosigan," Prince Xav said at last. "Like my father, I too have no men to spare for your vengeance." He drew something from beneath his cloak. "Nevertheless, some traditions must be followed. This is all I have to offer you."

Piotr took the sword carefully in his hands, testing the weight. He smiled. It seemed Prince Xav was still a Vor beneath his galactic cloak. Energy weapons were well and good, but a sharp and true blade would always have its advantages.

"I am glad you find it satisfactory," Prince Xav returned coldly. "I will expect nothing in return."

"No," Piotr answered, thinking once more of the fireball that had lit the sky for miles around. "I fear I cannot promise any woman's safety, even symbolically."

"I could have." Whatever had been coiled up in Prince Xav seemed to snap as he took a step closer to Piotr, his voice faltering for the first time. "Had I but known, I could have had her – all of them – on the next shuttle to Beta."

"And our father would have had your head the next morning, brother," Yuri said. "We all know he must use every weapon at his disposal."

"Indeed." Piotr was the last of his House and he did not expect to live long; an heir of Imperial blood would bind his men and his district to the Imperium long after him. "You did little good by fighting this, Prince Xav. If your daughter is a true Vor, she serves her Emperor."

Xav's fists clenched for a barely perceptible instant, then he turned back to him. "My daughter is more than true Vor. She is Vorbarra, and you will not forget that, Vorkosigan. She is no tool, though she has been treated as one today."

Piotr had taken enough, even from his Emperor's sons. He drew the sword an inch from its scabbard, steel catching the light. He looked down at Prince Xav's seal engraved on the hilt, crossed swords in black and silver.

Slowly, Piotr turned it over and found brown and silver on the opposite side, mountains and maple leaf glittering in the shadows. He looked up, and realized that neither prince had moved, and their eyes were steady on his face.

Piotr returned the sword to its sheath. "We are all tools, Your Highness," he said softly. "Remember that."

_II._

"So, what am I to call you now?" Constantia asked, rising to her feet as Xav closed the door behind him. "Brother? Traitor? Captor?"

She saw him pause only for an instant before he spoke, his voice simmering with rage. "You know the only true traitor in this family is Yuri."

"I know what I see," retorted Constantia.

She studied her second brother, counted the deepening lines on his face. She could see their father's features in Xav, but while age had strengthened Dorca like tempered steel, it had exhausted Xav. _Yuri_was still Dorca's image, as he had always been.

"He has forsaken all his oaths and all his ties of blood. And I must keep you here, for I will not take the chance that if you leave this building you will be murdered like my children, like our sisters, like –"

"The guards set around these chambers are for my protection, then?" Constantia scoffed. "What of the bars on the windows? Are you going to tell me that Cousin Ezar only wants to keep me safe out of the kindness of his heart?"

She knew from Xav's face that she had struck the mark. For all that Xav had schooled himself in diplomacy, he had never concealed his emotions from his youngest sister.

"No. Ezar has commanded me to convey this." Xav came to her and took her hand, pressing something small and cold into it. She looked down and saw a thin silver ring, plain, unmarked. She did not understand for an instant, then she did, and her eyes snapped up to her brother's.

Fear must have shown in her face, for Xav's anger seemed to fade at once. "You are right, of course. For all that I have sworn oaths, we are threats to him. We have to prove our loyalty, and this is the only way."

She snatched her hand away. "You are Dorca Vorbarra's _son_!"

Though her stomach churned at the thought of Xav on Yuri's throne, it would at least be better than Ezar. "You lost your children and grandchildren - Ezar has lost nothing, don't you see? All this bloodshed, all of us lost, and he alone has gained."

Whatever rumors Ezar and Xav himself might spread, Constantia did not doubt for a moment that _someone_ had been conspiring against the Emperor. But perhaps it was not the one he thought. Was it not suspicious how quickly Ezar's army had been prepared, how allies had sprung up?

She could not say that aloud here, in this camp. _Mad. I am his sister, they will call me mad._

"It is you who speak of treason now," Xav snapped back. "My only son is dead, and Ezar is still young enough to have several. I will not save my grandsons from one war only to start another around them."

"I am Dorca's blood," she spat, forcing the ring back into his hands. "Take this back, brother, and tell Ezar he does not give me orders."

"You must. We cannot afford to turn two Emperors against us." Xav held her hands tightly. "I thought you were dead, sister, I thought he had killed you too. Now… I swear that you will stay safe. You need never fear anything from Ezar while I live. No one would dare-"

She slapped him.

"_You_ dared. You and Ezar and Piotr Vorkosigan sat down in your war council and bartered my honor away. You, who fought our father over Olivia's rights until she barged in and told you to stop – when it came to your vengeance instead of Piotr Vorkosigan's, you were just as quick to offer me. Nothing I can say will make a difference, _brother_."

She turned away from him. _Yuri is my Emperor,_some part of her cried out. _Yuri is your brother, I am your sister. You loved me once;_ _have you forgotten?_ Xav, who she had always trusted to protect her, who had guarded her through twenty years of war – if Xav had turned against her, who was left?

_Let me be mad, then, let them know me for Yuri's sister._

She felt Xav's hands grip her shoulders in the silence that followed.

"If you cannot do this," he whispered, "tell me. I cannot send you back to Yuri – he knows you are here, he will believe you a traitor – but my armsmen will guide you far from Ezar. Say the word, and they will keep you safe."

She closed her eyes. _Oh, Xav._ He was her brother still, underneath the rage and the grief. Her brother, who was kind to her even now; who had already wept too much; her brother, who was, so often, a fool.

"And you would come with me, would you?" she asked.

"He is my Emperor now," Xav whispered in return, his voice heavy. "I have broken one oath already."

Long years of war had hardened Yuri and Ezar; it had turned Xav into a peacemaker, she thought, the lone diplomat in a family of warriors. Always trying to make peace where there was none. In the end, always compromising, always failing; always trying to salvage something from the ashes.

_Oh, Xav,_she thought._You will fail, and fail again. Even now you are blind. Do you remember how he watched us as we grew, always the forgotten younger cousin, always envious? And now he has won; he has taken your pride, brother, he has taken your children and Yuri's throne and all our birthright._

Ezar had commanded, and there was nothing she could do. He all but had Yuri's throne; now he would have Yuri's sister. In the end he would have Yuri's life. All of Dorca's children would be dead or kneeling at his feet, and Ezar Vorbarra would at long last be master of all he had been denied by birth.

Yuri was lost, her sisters dead. Xav was too weak, too broken by his losses. She alone was left to show Ezar what Dorca Vorbarra's blood meant, that it was not something to be set aside so easily.

"He will not have me," she said quietly. _He has his victory, but I will deny him this._

Without looking back at her brother, she took the ring from his fingers. "You may say to Ezar that I will give him my hand in marriage," she told Xav. "But he will never possess me."

_III._

The ceremony was over, and the guests had started drifting away. Lord Vorpatril had been dragged off by a group of his fellow officers, and Alys's younger sister was whispering eagerly with their older cousin Kareen, who had just come up from the District. For the first time in the day, Alys was separated from the crowd of friends and family.

There was only one other person on the small balcony where Alys stood, and she was quite unmistakable. Despite the modest cut of her gown, the old-fashioned style of her hair, Princess Nandini Vorbarra had stood out from every other woman at the ceremony.

It was hard to say precisely why. The Princess was aging even by Betan standards now; she was not the most beautiful, nor did she carry herself with the practiced posture of a Vor lady. But she carried an air of clearsighted detachment, as if she could see to the heart of things. Alys found that she approved of it.

The Princess inclined her head in welcome, and Alys joined her on the balcony, curtseying respectfully to the woman who was now both the highest lady of the Vor, and her new grandmother.

She was holding the blunted knife Alys' mother had given her, looking down at it with a sardonic expression. "Even on Barrayar, there are more sensible ways of assessing genetic quality," the Princess murmured. "Oh, I don't know, exchanging your genome sequences or something."

"It isn't a demonstration of purity," Alys replied softly. "It's a demonstration of trust, in the promise of it. To examine another Vor's genetic sequence would be to doubt his family's honor."

Nandini smiled. "It's wise to doubt everything, sometimes." She turned the knife over. "So we trust you with our future, as you trust us with your life. Are you pleased, then, with this betrothal?"

"The Count my father has long wished it," Alys answered formally, "and I am pleased." An alliance with the Imperial family would serve her House well, but truthfully, that was far from the point. Alys had wanted it, wanted to be more than another Count's young daughter with good prospects.

And there was the other reason, the reason they had rushed ahead with a betrothal so early. A little longer, and they would not be able to pretend that Prince Serg's attentions had gone unnoticed. The exchange of gifts was more than symbolic, from her point of view; Prince Xav Vorbarra's name was truly the shield that had protected her.

The next young woman to catch Serg's attentions would have no such protection, and if there was any truth in the things Alys had heard whispered among the Residence servants, that was something to fear. But she could not speak of any of that here.

"Well, you're one of the family now," said Nandini, putting the knife away. "I suppose we start by trusting you with our secrets." She lowered her voice. "Here is something you are not to speak of. I will, very soon – likely within the year - return to Beta Colony. Permanently."

There could be only one reason for that. Alys looked back to the ballroom, where Prince Xav was seated in the corner with one of his Armsmen hovering close to him. A cane leaned on the wall next to his chair now. It was obvious that even the small act of standing in their circle, accepting their gifts, had tired him.

"But your family is here," she said. She watched Lord Vorpatril wave off his friends and head over to the old man. Now that she looked, she wondered how she had failed to see her betrothed's obvious concern.

"My grandsons, you mean?" Nandini smiled. "I love them dearly, but both of them spend ten months of the year on ship duty. And they understand me less and less each time they come back."

Alys's eyes passed over Lord Vorpatril, who had now reached his grandfather, and was kneeling beside Prince Xav's chair to speak. "Padma has you now," the Princess said. "My other grandson isn't likely to ever marry again, much though Piotr tries to pretend otherwise. But he has his ship and his soldiers, and he isn't drowning himself in guilt or alcohol any longer. I know better than to think I can heal those wounds."

"I am not prepared…" Alys began, worried. She had expected her status to rise with this betrothal, but she had never expected that, at a time when Barrayar had neither an Empress nor a Crown Princess – nor any Lady Vorkosigan - the only remaining woman of House Vorbarra would simply pack her bags and leave.

"- to find yourself in this position?" Nandini finished. "I know, child. But it's done now. You have to be prepared." She took Alys's hand in hers. "Xav has been holding a lot of things together, these last few years, by the power of his name and by sheer force of will. Things will change quickly as soon as he is gone. There's nothing you or I can do for that."

Inside, Lord Vorpatril - _Padma, I must learn to call him Padma_ - had been joined by her sister and Kareen, and from the look of it they were teasing him mercilessly while Prince Xav looked on. But Nandini's eyes were not on Padma, or on Xav. Alys followed her gaze to the far corner of the room.

She saw Prince Serg standing there in his glittering parade uniform, his eyes fixed malevolently on the group around Padma, and shivered.

"You should not go back," Alys said, facing the Princess's clear eyes. "Stay longer, please. I don't know how to do this on my own."

"I must." She was older than Xav, Alys realized suddenly. Her face didn't show it, with Betan genetics, but her eyes did. "There is very little that I can do here without Xav, but as long as I am alive and living on Beta Colony, Padma will have a claim to refuge on Beta. So will you, if you ever wish to take it."

Alys paused. "You're one of us now," Nandini said, watching her carefully. "Listen to me, child. Xav and I see what's coming, but our time is over. This world will demand much of you. There will be a time when it will demand blood. You don't have to give it that. You can walk away."

"I cannot do that," Alys whispered. Not if Xav Vorbarra was truly dying, not if everything in Barrayar's circles of power was about to change. No great-grandson of Dorca Vorbarra could walk away in such a time, and she would not either.

"I knew you'd say that." The Princess's fingers tightened around Alys's hand. "Then I will teach you what I can, in the time I have. Let us hope it turns out to be enough."

_IV._

"You never had a proper betrothal," Count Piotr said stiffly, looking at Cordelia from across the table.

She and Aral hadn't had much of a proper wedding, either, at least not as Count Piotr considered proper. Cordelia glanced around vainly for Aral's support. "Is that… important?"

Piotr grimaced. "It is customary, at least among the Vor. The wedding is yours, but the betrothal ceremony seals the alliance of two families."

It was a good thing they'd skipped it, then. Cordelia could not imagine Count Piotr wanting to ally himself with her family. It was hard to decide who would be more befuddled by the encounter.

"This is what I would give to your mother," Count Piotr said, holding out his hand. "I had considered having it sent to Beta – though, strictly, it should be the Second who conveys the gift, but that was dispensed with at my own betrothal. As your mother would then pass it on to you before the wedding, it seems logical enough to ignore it."

_You have already ignored enough_, went the unspoken words. Cordelia looked down at the object he was holding out to her. It was a small dagger sheathed in brown and silver, decorated with what she now knew to be the Vorkosigan seal.

She took the dagger from Count Piotr and removed it from the sheath, handling it with care. It was thin and sharp, with a plain hilt, its shape subtly different from the weapon that Count Piotr himself carried.

"You may be Betan and a prole, but you are a true soldier." It was the highest compliment she had ever received from the old General. "You will bear this well."

Cordelia wondered why the sight of it made her vaguely ill. There was nothing to feel uneasy about. She'd held – and used – far more dangerous weapons.

It was just ceremonial, like so much else on Barrayar. With all the armsmen around her and the planet at peace, it was unlikely that she'd ever have to use it, and even more unlikely that Count Piotr, with his strange ideas of womanly decorum, would ever expect her to.

_V._

Kareen was perfectly composed as Vidal placed the ring on her finger. She wondered what it said about her, that she should hardly even react as the last of her pretense of honor was stripped away, but even that thought did not show on her face.

"Look at the vid," Vidal whispered, and she obeyed, displaying his ring for the whole planet to see. Fortunately she was not expected to smile for the occasion, and the suitably grave expression of a princess in a time of war came easily to her.

She allowed Vidal to slide an arm around her shoulders. His touch was no more than appropriate for the occasion, yet it felt invasive, even possessive.

But Vidal's touch would not be so unpleasant, in comparison to the things she had already borne. And if Vidal meant not to wait until the wedding… well, what choice had she? What choice had she had, since the day that blunted knife had passed from her mother's hands to Ezar's, everyone present but Kareen understanding its significance?

No knight in shining armor would rescue her. Ezar had not rescued her; Ezar, who had cloaked her in Vorbarra black and silver and called her daughter, and turned his face from her when she wept at his feet. Nor Vorkosigan, who had carried that knife at her previous betrothal, leaving Kareen wondering why he found this duty distasteful when it should have been a great honor. Who had sworn to protect her and had turned away now. Vorkosigan attached no worth to her beyond her son; just as Vidal valued her for the name Vorbarra.

No; for all the power she appeared to have, the truth was that Kareen had never been more a pawn in this game. And now she was firmly planted on one side of the board. Vorkosigan would denounce her as a traitor as soon as this transmission reached Tanery Base. There were too many witnesses, right here, who would say that Kareen had given herself willingly.

_Oh, Drou, Drou_, she cried silently. _Why did I ever send you away?_ Again, because there had been no choice; she had needed a pair of eyes in Vorkosigan's household, someone she could trust, but how could she even trust Drou now? Drou was with Vorkosigan, with that young officer she had spent all Winterfair exchanging glances with, who was utterly loyal to Vorkosigan.

Even Drou's loyalties had shifted. Why not Kareen's?

Vidal was speaking now, of accusations of treason and murder, his self-appointment as Regent, and Kareen sat quietly by his side, her expression unchanging, even as something deep inside her went on crying.

And there was a part of her that wanted to laugh at the same time, at the fact that Vidal truly thought she could bring him the power he wanted. What a myth, when she had not even the power to keep her own son alive, when the lake in Vorkosigan Surleau still haunted all her dreams.

She could laugh and cry at once, for the irony of it all. For in the betrothals of the Vor, gifts were exchanged by all, yet the lady alone returned no ring, no jewel, no gift of any kind to her betrothed. Her name and wealth were all her father's. She brought to her husband only her loyalty and honor; her greatest gift was also the only thing that was hers to give.

This was her last weapon, her only revenge. Vidal had given her nothing but empty lies, and she had done the same to him.

_VI._

The last congratulations had been accepted, the last guests now trailing away into the snowy night. Lady Alys had delivered her final verdict on the events of the evening, and Laisa allowed herself to rest at last, stretching out on a silk-covered sofa in the antechamber to the Glass Room and closing her eyes.

The betrothal gifts lay heaped on a low table in front of her; weapons, gold, jewels, cloth in the Vorbarra colors of black and silver. Laisa ran her hand over the edge of the sofa, feeling the lines in the hard wood, the same carved motifs of Barrayaran birds and animals that were all over the Residence.

There were fires crackling in the adjacent rooms tonight; more for show than anything else, but it had certainly been a grand show for Laisa's family and friends. Wood was an imported luxury on Komarr, never mind animals; The entire Toscane clan together could not have thought of living in a room like this, yet Gregor had told her that he used to run from room to room in the Residence scribbling his name on the walls.

So many things were different now, Laisa mused. So many things to get used to, on Barrayar. And some things that she would like to change.

Laisa opened her eyes as she heard approaching footsteps, glancing around at the regal portraits of past Vorbarras that lined the walls on either side. She smiled and moved to one side as Gregor came to sit beside her.

"What are you thinking?" Gregor murmured, twining his fingers with hers.

Laisa tightened her fingers around his warm hand. "I was thinking that it's my turn to give you a gift," she answered.

"You don't have to give me a gift," Gregor reassured her. "Didn't Lady Alys tell you?"

"I've brought one anyway," said Laisa, smiling, and pulled him closer, leaning in for a kiss.

When they drew apart a minute later, Gregor was smiling, and even the portraits of his ancestors seemed to be smiling down on them.


End file.
